


uneasy acceptance

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [16]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ableism, Gen, Some crying, no real resolution, wildly innacurate portrayal of wilderness survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: Some people are simply... different. That does not make them unlikable. But it does not mean they ought to get along with everyone, either.





	uneasy acceptance

“I am simply curious about meeting your friends,” Thancred says innocently enough, leaning against the wall.

“They—um—they’re not—they’re not really my friends,” Ikael mumbles. He scratches his ear awkwardly.

Thancred has figured as much. He raises an eyebrow. “Still. You fight fearsome primals with them on a regular basis; I wonder that they do not visit the Scions, considering how much time you must spend together.”

“‘Must’ being the operative word,” Ikael mutters to himself. But he fidgets, fusses with a thread on his tunic, and eventually nods.

“Please be nice to them,” he relents, and really, only half of Thancred wonders why he wouldn’t be. With the way Ikael… is, of course he has some suspicions.

~*~

They have barely started walking through the makeshift camp, and already, Thancred feels he can pick at the awkward strings of unease threading between Ikael and these… companions. It is in stark contrast to how _he_ feels with Ikael—steady and tough, strongly bound together. Ikael is walking barely a fulm apart from him, and his hand is twitching occasionally, as if he wants to hold on to—Thancred? His arm?—but is stopping himself.

Thancred settles a hand on Ikael’s shoulder—clasping, full—to get his attention. Ikael startles somewhat, blinking at him rapidly.

“Awfully quiet, this lot,” Thancred offers. It is true; their arrival had earned them a few brief glances, but naught a word of welcome. It is… odd, to be this purposefully ignored. Thancred wonders if Ikael has done anything to warrant it.

“Um, they don’t really—they don’t really—like me,” Ikael mumbles in a hushed voice. He nibbles at his lip, then stops.

Thancred feels offended on his behalf, but Ikael had said to be nice, so Thancred shall. He himself knows how Ikael can be seen as… irritating, although that is—that is _paltry—_

Ikael is gently tugging at his shirt with dirt-stained fingers. Thancred lets himself be led to a tall, tired-looking elezen who is hunched down on a log, frowning over a scroll.

“Ikael,” he says before Thancred can feign a suitably grand greeting. He sets his scroll down, his curt gaze flicking up from it to them. He regards them for a moment, the creases on his face settling in deeper, and then nods at Thancred.

“Who is this?” he asks simply. Shortly.

“Thancred, of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, at your service,” Thancred introduces himself with a bow. Ikael’s fingers on his sleeve withdraw hesitantly.

The answering snort makes him look up. The elezen is regarding him with an unimpressed, dryly amused look.

“This the lot you run with?” he asks Ikael, whose face creases into something awkward and perplexed for a moment before relaxing.

“This—Thancred is—my friend,” he says. “He just wan—just wanted to—meet you.”

The elezen gives a long, drawn-out sigh. “Not this week, Ikael,” he says, voice dipping into a flat tone of annoyance. “We just got out of a rough fight barely a few bells ago. Go back to the Company house and see if you can find another group. Maybe Miralda’s.”

“No, I—I-I know,” Ikael stammers. “I just… Thancred really did just want to meet you. Honest.”

Another brief glance at Thancred. “Well, he has met me,” the elezen states plainly. He looks back at his scroll, picking it up. “We haven’t eaten yet. If you’ve come all this way just to waste time, you might as well be useful.”

Thancred opens his mouth, but Ikael is already tugging him away.

“Come on,” he says softly. Thancred's lips tighten, but he turns around and follows.

“I brought enough food for everyone already,” Ikael says, and before Thancred can question his foresightedness, Ikael shoots him a mildly pleading look. “Just… go get some meat, yeah? It would do wonders, and… these people are tired.”

“You planned for your unconditional services but not my aid?” Thancred shoots in, and Ikael sucks in a breath.

“Please, Thancred,” he begs. Thancred is already slowly nodding.

“Don’t get into too much trouble without me,” he says, squeezing Ikael’s shoulder. Ikael grants him a quick, genuine smile.

~*~

When Thancred returns, the air in the camp seems to have… shifted. The group members, who were before silent and focused on their tasks, are now trading quiet, quick murmurs. Thancred catches a ducked head here and a smirk there, and, occasionally, a mocking whisper.

He shoots a questioning glance at the archer whose bow he has borrowed. “Something happen?” he asks, tilting his head towards the others.

That same smirk flits across their lips. “The idiot’s having one of his ‘moments’ again,” they say. “Shittin’ himself stupid because of that wee slip of a girl.”

There is a moment of brief, crystalline clarity in which Thancred can see the timeline of the Scions’ and Ikael’s relationship, wispy but amiable, in stark contrast with the urgency-driven contract he has made with… whoever these people are.

He scans the camp for Ikael—spots him quickly enough, next to a small firepit and a miqo’te girl—and swiftly stalks towards him before the urge to stab someone makes its way past his itchy fingers. _Bloody_ Free Companies.

“Hope dodo is enough, ’Kael,” he grunts, roughening his manner enough to excuse slipping in the name. “They were nearby, and quick.”

Ikael looks up as Thancred sets the bird down, as does the girl beside him. Thancred blinks at her—she seems… familiar? Where has he…

“You are the voidsent girl,” he says, surprised. “With the…”

Memories of fish, claw wounds, and seaweed filter through his mind. He trails off and glances at Ikael, who is hunched in on himself and now staring at the ground.

The other miqo’te’s eyes narrow. “That has not happened in a while,” she says testily. “Because _I_ , for one, learn from my mistakes.”

She glares at Ikael. He seems to shrink even further, his ears folding downwards. He doesn’t say anything.

Thancred squats down next to him. “Is there a problem here?” he asks the girl, arching an eyebrow.

Her scowl deepens. “None of your business,” she snaps.

“I would say it _is_ my business,” Thancred returns steadily, “Because a one-sided fight is not really a fight at all, is it?”

Her eyes narrow further. Ikael, close next to him, moves his head.

“M’ara w—M’ara was…” Ikael’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. “Sh-she was… she…”

“I was telling him off because his _idiocy_ nearly got me killed!” The girl—M’ara—interrupts. She glares. “When Anerieux tells us to do something, you bloody fool, you _listen!_ The next time you think you know better than our healers, you can push _yourself_ into a firepit.”

“’m _sorry_.” Ikael looks seconds away from bursting into tears. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to—”

“Well, you _did_!” M’ara yanks up her sleeve, and Thancred winces instinctively when he sees the thick, nasty burn scars roping up her arm, twisting and spreading further into her sleeve. “These are never leaving me! I will have them forever! And it is. _Your!_ _Fault!_ ”

She is yelling by the time she is done speaking, and Ikael is flinching away from every shouted word. M’ara growls, rises in one motion, and gives the dodo bird a sharp, angry kick before stomping away.

Ikael starts to cry.

Thancred sighs softly and wraps his arms around him. He is relieved when Ikael immediately scoots closer, letting himself be comforted.

“It was an accident,” Thancred says quietly.

Ikael starts to shake his head. “Doesn’ matter,” he mumbles. “I-I— _hic—_ always fuck up like that, and I can’t—it’s too—it’s too _loud_ and it hurts my _head_ and the music _hurts_ me—”

He starts crying again. Thancred tightens his hold and waits it out, occasionally murmuring soft words of reassurance.

Ikael quietens quickly enough, and gently breaks away from Thancred to shuffle over to the dodo bird.

“Help me prepare this,” he says quietly. Thancred nods, getting out his paring knife.

He will ask about it later, he decides. Not now. Not here.

~*~

Thancred finds himself wondering, as he sits and watches the dodo turn on its spit, how far the threshold of Ikael’s bare minimum requirements for friendship extends. They all know that it… does not take a lot, to put it kindly. Sometimes, it is as if Ikael is more like them, and can clearly tell what is acceptable and what is not. And then sometimes, all Thancred has to do is offer him a shawl when he is cold, and Ikael will look at him as if he is being offered the world. And while that first felt, Thancred will admit, somewhat gratifying, now it is…

Honestly, it’s a little sad.

Thancred is no fool. It is clear, and now confirmed, that traipsing around with these… people is what is keeping Ikael’s standards as low as they are. Undoing all of Thancred's hard work, which he does not appreciate. But does Ikael… care about these people? Does he consider them his friends? Thancred is almost afraid to ask if _they_ are friends; not because it is a ridiculous bloody question, but because it might have an equally ridiculous answer.

“Are we friends?” he demands abruptly, not giving himself time to turn the thought over too much.

Ikael gives him quite a surprised look, which he has no business doing. He blinks at Thancred with slow, large eyes.

“You and me?” he asks, gesturing between them, because he apparently feels the need to ask for clarification.

Thancred breathes out a huff. “Yes, me and you,” he says. He feels a little silly now, but mostly… mostly relieved. So _they_ are friends—and yes, now he remembers Ikael introducing him as such earlier—but what about Ikael and this group? Surely there must be at least _someone_ here who is passably polite to him.

Ikael is looking at him worriedly. “I… think we are friends,” he ventures. “Are… we not? You are… you are very sweet and kind to me.”

Thancred smiles at him before his thoughts can spiral into someplace dark. “We are,” he reassures. “I am just curious as to your definitions.”

Ikael seems to think for a moment, letting go of the spit and no doubt completely forgetting about it in that instant. Thancred turns it in his stead.

“Well,” Ikael says after a moment, “I like you, and I care about you. You care about me.” He begins to tick off his fingers. “You do not yell at me. You do not—I do—I do not irritate you.” His voice shakes slightly on the last sentence.

Ah; there it is. Thancred uses the motion of turning the spit once more to lean against him.

“Why do you think you are irritating, hm?” he prods gently. Ikael’s lips tug downwards.

“I-I… am not good with people, Thancred,” he says softly. “I… do not say the right things. I make them uncomfortable. Sometimes I… they do not like when… They think I am—strange.”

Thancred frowns. “Strange?” he questions. He strokes Ikael’s collar between his fingers. “Because you do this?”

Ikael gives a small shrug, and then nods. “Partly,” he says. Then, “… Yes. Maybe. I... cannot tell, entirely. They… they think I behave strangely. It… started when I joined them. It is easy for one odd new person to be the subject of rumours among friends, Thancred. Not to mention that I was… I was not the most… eloquent. Back then. I… said things I was not supposed to. Blurted things out that I should have kept to myself.”

He looks down. Thancred's frown deepens.

“That is debatable,” he says, but he does not argue that statement. Yet. “But surely there must have been a _few_ people who did not share that mentality? The whole Company cannot be made of unsociable codpieces.”

A brief smile flits across Ikael’s mouth at that. “There were,” he says softly. “There—are. And I do—have a few friends. But they either do not fight, or they stay away from the Company when they can. These people are—powerful, Thancred. They have connections. Their network extends to other Free Companies as well, and it is impossible to try and gather a party who is both capable and willing to fight primals without coming across the same people, eventually. You understand there is a sort of… elitism going on.”

Thancred huffs quietly. “It is not right,” he says lowly. “They need a lesson in basic decency, if you ask me.”

“And who is going to teach them?” Ikael looks at him. “Urielle, the culinarian, who cannot wield more than a ladle? Axi? She is barely around, for her own sake—she does not like these people any more than you do. And the independent adventurers, Thancred—they are not… suitable for the most dangerous things. I would not throw them in the belly of the beast just because this lot is… disagreeable.”

Thancred snorts at that. Ikael glances away.

“They are not… bad people, Thancred,” he says softly. “It is just an… unfortunate circumstance. Nothing can be done of it.”

Thancred sighs. “Fate has dealt you a lamentable hand,” he agrees, staring at the flames licking up the dodo meat.

Ikael shifts. “I think I have dealt it myself,” he says quietly.

They wait. Watch. Eventually, Thancred looks over to him.

“These people are not your friends,” he states. Ikael shakes his head.

“No,” he replies. “You are.”

Thancred does not know what to say to that. After a moment, Ikael moves closer, sliding his hands up Thancred's arms. He rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says.

And Thancred does not know what to say to _that_ , either.

~*~


End file.
